


Bury A Friend

by emmergefromhell



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, No beta we die like lilith, either platonic or romantic is up to the reader, okay not all of them are angst but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmergefromhell/pseuds/emmergefromhell
Summary: If you know the song, you know what the chapters’ titles’ mean. However, the fic may (or may not) actually relate to the title.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. “What do you want from me?”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my first work for the fandom! (*´▽`*) I actually do all by myself, including the beta, so the works are actually not as perfect as having someone else for the job.

_“What do you want from me?”_

After all, it’s just fair that he has to make up somehow.

Without them, he wouldn’t be here right now, casually talking and chilling outside the annoyingly crowded and exhausting party. Without them, he would never know the truth behind what happened to his dearest sister that their eldest brother had been keeping hidden all those time. Without them, maybe in another thousand years that pass by, Belphegor would never learn to treasure someone.

But he does not know what to offer the human. He’s in debt of his life, but broken and stumped on what he could give in return. They basically have everything up in their demands, his brothers eagerly fulfill them, and Belphegor ran in too late. He bites his lower lip, his remorse came flooding in his last bits of sanity - whatever he has left after years and years and years of imprisonments, over what he had done. He had literally, he could have completely erased them from this history, from this present he’s in and the future they were to share together as well, so he had expected something he could do to show that he’s truly regretting his poor decision in twisted, blind anger.

The human doesn’t answer him. Not really, they seem deep in thought, and they hum quietly. They don’t look like they want anything from him. That makes him anticipated more than ever - does it mean there’s nothing that will dissolve the bitter guilt eating him inside for eternity? Are they just going to kiss it and call it a day in fate, is that all? Why?

In the end, they just shake their head.

_“Are we not fair? I’m more rejoiced at the fact that I’m still alive somehow than staying mad at being killed. And you are riddled with guilt, which I do not find as satisfying as it should be. Anyhow, we’re fair.”_

_“Not that I have completely forgiven you, Belphie. But hatred doesn’t sort things for me, I will have to sort it out myself nonetheless. We all have to move on with what we have anyway.”_

_Hatred does not sort things out for them both._

It hits. It just has to hit bitterly.

Belphegor stares blankly at the clear, glimmering lavender-ish blue hues of the glassy lake from where he was sitting, hugging his knees closer and rests his chin on them. Much like how bitterness and pain from the loss of a family member - his dearest sister - had grown with him over time until they became numb, this raw, brittling regret will follow him quietly like a haunting ghost for the rest of no matter how many years left his life has, should it find a way to etch itself in his momentary dreams, away from exhaustion and tiredness.

They might have forgiven him, but he couldn’t forgive himself.

Perhaps the least he can do right now is

_“Would you like to make a pact with me, then?”_

let them control him however they please.

He does not beg for forgiveness. He knows he can’t. Not in any position even just for a tiny fraction of it. So long as the nauseating trauma still hunts them at night, he wishes they would remember this pact - their fear scorching and draping over his own mind. They would need some sort of comfort, and he’ll always be ready to provide it.

The sole proof of his rehabilitation, his regrets.


	2. “Why don’t you run from me?”

Breaths ragged.

Legs strained.

Vision’s a blurry mess.

Exhaustion catching up to every nerve in their body.

They were running.

Not running away, but running towards a figure they know so well and yet at the same time so foreign.

Beelzebub trembling in fear. Fear of his haunting, immense hunger and the urge to consume the human whole, satiate his wants and needs dancing in his mind like a buzzing chant over and over again.

No, he couldn’t, he consoled with his own hunger. He can’t.

He _won’t_.

That’s why he’s running. Distancing himself from the human. Keeping them away from danger - he himself.

So why are they still following him? Still trying to approach him so close? Why aren’t they backing up?

He knows he can’t run away forever. He can’t just bring himself to be far from his human for more than an arm length and over an hour a day, yet he just feels like this is the only way he can do to protect them.

Never will he hurt them, no matter intentionally or accidentally.

So now, when he’s cornered, with nowhere to run - he doesn’t want to either, seeing how close they are to collapse right then and there makes his stomach knot in distaste even further.

_“Why don’t you run from me?”_

He managed to utter it with trembling voice. He sounds too intimidating, or too weak right now with his demon form in display that completely contrasts, he does not care. Couldn’t care less.

_Don’t come near, I don’t want to hurt you._

He secretly pleads in his mind.

“Why do you run from me?”

They fell hard on their knees. One step further may result in unconsciousness and they shall not risk any further. No, they still want to talk and get to Beel, they don’t want to worry him even further than how he’s already overwhelmed with worries right now. So they barely breathe out their answer - more in a form of a snarky retort to him.

If he has a reason to run away from them, they also have a reason to not run away from him too.

“I might _eat_ you.” For the ‘who-know-how-many’th time ever since the mortal and fragile being got to know Beel, this has always been the sole reason for whatever distance left they still have at this point. “I’m scared. That I might accidentally eat you whole. I don’t want that...”

“It’s not your fault, Beel.” They try to reassure him. “Yes, your hunger is insatiable and you can’t control it. But please, trust me when I said you wouldn’t.”

Having gained enough stamina to move again, they dragged their tired body closer and gently placed a hand on his, giving him a light squeeze as they smile.

“I trust you, Beel.”

_“...I promise.”_

As he tried his best to pull his human into a soft embrace in his big arms, he couldn’t help but sob quietly into their small figure.

He was fighting a battle. One between his uncontrollable hunger - something he was born with that was taking away his sanity bit by bit, and his newborn, soothing but strong desire to gain the upper hand over his own enemy, to protect the sweet embodiment of the three worlds’ most ecstatic delicacy that was given to him. It was a hard battle, deemed to lose, but it’s also a battle he could never give up.

Perhaps he’s not fighting it alone.

The human is there, pumping his strength like a sip of protein flowing through every muscle, only by their reassuring touches that latch over his body. They are his everything. His shield, his armor, his strength, his spear.

He’s never to face the hardships on his own.


	3. “What are you wondering?”

He can’t help but wondering

What is it that his human was thinking, what made them smile when they were reading, what makes them so attractive that he suddenly becomes so willing to bow down and grant them the special first place in his heart, what got them by his side, listening attentively, he’s curious about everything of this very human being.

Then he started wondering

What do they think of him? How do they feel about him? Is there lust as dark as Devildom’s night, or is there only pure thoughts that shine brightly like heaven’s soothing light? His charm didn’t work on them, that alone proved they’re even more special than Lucifer himself - the one least affected by his power at the moment. So he knows nothing of their lust. It’s clouded, vivid, ambiguous between desire and pure intentions that he could sense.

Asmodeus was, actually, never one to bother all of that. His irresistible charm draws in even the deepest of hatred. In fact, it was that twisted lust, or straight up sexual desires when someone looks at him for the first time, that brings in the mightiest strength in him. The stronger their feelings, the stronger he becomes. He knows everything running inside their dirty little minds, their eyes bare out all for him to see, and he’s grown bored over the years how simple-mindedly they can be, how filthy desires can manifest itself into. And how easily he could make those little humans dance in his palm, blissfully unconscious of whatever they’re asking for, it wore him out to no end.

This human by his side, gracefully making their way through his barrier of boredom with their own layers of hazy thoughts, surprised and invoked him so much as they smiled mysteriously to his profound shock.

_“What are you wondering?”_

The words may have escaped his lips unnoticed, but he doesn’t mind.

He purrs in their embrace, their pose shifted a little to make room for air flowing in their lungs.

Perhaps his lust wants to be sated by their answer. Perhaps they are radiating a strong desire to lead him astray, falling into their riddles and through countless puzzle pieces of mind, so that he’d eventually find the eye of the storm at the end of his little journey that he didn’t know he’d been pulled in.

He whispered a little ‘darling’ when he nudges, their fingers brushing through his strawberry blonde hair softly brings a wave of calmness that none of what he had done in bed could ever bring him.

They shook, their lips curled up in a smile. It’s a mystery and it will remain so for as long as they don’t feel like spoiling it - their determination-filled, half-lidded eyes echoed in his mind. Either intentionally or not, it made his sleeping passion go wild.

So he slowly gets up, knees pinning them and hands gently pushing them back against the headboard covered with vines of wild, blooming buds of roses, their vividly sickening sweet scent adorned his charming manipulation with silky strings of lust. Anyone who is either bold or foolish enough to look at his eyes right now wouldn’t be much different from preys stuck on a spiderweb, their struggles drowned out the more they even try - if they ever.

But his mortal doesn’t falter. He knows they won’t. And that just pushes his confidence further.

_“Should I make you say it then?”_

He can’t wait to break them and make them slip away whatever’s in their mind bits by bits.

Through the hazy mist, their pose stand straight, clearer than ever, their voice guides him closer and closer to the storm’s eye.

To their little Pandora Box.


	4. “What do you know?”

Satan wonders if they have ever regretted stepping in to stop him in the midst of his rage.

_They should be._

After all, it’s not the first time they have risked their life trying.

Yet they keep on. No hesitation and no fear, they just casually called his name, spreading their arms and patiently waiting. 

It wouldn’t work, he spitefully scowls.

How ironic, the way he always ends up basking and letting himself melt away in their embrace. He’s still mad, sure, but it must have been the pact they’re using on him to make him like this - he convinced so every single time.

But this time, it won’t be like that.

“Go away! I’m not myself at the moment.”

He knows his voice just cracked from how bad and how wrong he sounded when he spatted out those words.

Of course, he never had expected them to go along with every of his courses of action in the first place, but what they had done screamed betrayal, echoing in his mind annoyingly. He should have known. Yet he couldn’t stop his anger from boiling over them.

He was sure it was just a misunderstanding between him and Lucifer. Not the first time. Won’t be the last time. It’s just bound to happen anyway. But this time he was so close to explode, so close that if those pair of glimmering orbs weren’t staring straight at his with desire to protect his older brother so strong, he would eventually hurt, even kill them, though he would’ve been easily subdued by Lucifer anyway.

Have they not promised to not take the risks so high ever again? They surely had promised it to him. No, they aren’t the kind to go back to their words. Then, why?

He could feel the warmth on the other side of his room’s door, the weight of someone leaning on it, and their silence like oils dripping in his ravishing flame of madness.

“But Satan, you are always you.” He can heard them sighing as their body slipped along the dusty wooden door to his messy room. _“I know you.”_

He wants to retort, he wants to deny, yet he found his throat suddenly so dry. Their voice, their tone, the sadness that laces every word, the pain of the heart that beats - either his or theirs or both’s, makes his chest throb. He unconsciously brings his hand up, it stings - no longer dwelling in wrath, but a mild, persistent pain like crisp branches cracking under his steps after a forest fire died out - it hurts a lot. Then he remembers their pact. This is their pain, the pain he’s feeling. His slender fingers hovering above his racing heart, forming into a tight grip as he grits his teeth.

When has he not been in pain? Why would this be any different?

It does not matter if he’s hurt. It matters if they are.

He slumped, finally gave up his stern gaze at his tightly clenched fist and his knitted brows as he changed his vision to the pitch black ceiling lining with lines of stars - fake but beautiful and calming like those real meteors shining in rare Devildom nights.

_“What do you know?”_

What do they know that he doesn’t know?

Is he an open book? Is he a book that was locked away with a curse of eternal wrath and insecurities? They were willing to read him, to understand him, but how could they know more than he knows his own self?

_“I know you are the one I love no matter what.”_

They won. They have always been the winner in this.

Satan begrudgingly stands up, unlocks the door - of course without letting the human on the other side falls - and he hugs them. Tightly.

They have won.

For he has never known his never ending wrath could even faze in their presence like mist dissolving in the sun.

_“Thank you.”_


	5. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

He was about to hurt them.

He was about to crush their fragile windpipe with just a squeeze of his tail around their neck.

He was about to tear out their flesh bits by bits into a bloody chunk of meat with his sharp claws embedded in their sides.

_He was about to kill them._

They didn’t fight back.

They didn’t squirm in his grip, they didn’t struggle in his hold.

The way they looked at him without the smallest hint of fear got him break out cold sweats instead.

His skin seethed envy. His body burned, his glossy scales that shine under the room’s soothing blue neon light now reek of jealousy.

He was jealous. He was envious. All the time, because he’s the very embodiment of such nauseating feelings. Not that he wished to burn himself with blind rage, he had never believed that very same evil, violent sea serpent that once ruled the Seven Seas could also be a yucky, repulsive and disgusting otaku like he is right now. So deep down, he was envious of the human exchange student. How could they live so carefree, so joyful - not gnawed by insecurities like him? Oh there were so many times Leviathan wished he could’ve just made them suffer, made them grow more and more insecure, more self-conscious, he wanted to see them at their lowest.

He just wants them to understand how lowly and undeserving he is of their love and attention.

_“Why...”_ His voice trembles. _“Why aren’t you scared of me?”_

**_Why?_ **

His coral-shaped horns, his scales, his serpentine tail, every inch of his abnormal appearance screams a ‘stay away from me’ round of alert to the human. They should have left him right now, scurrying away on those frail legs and shutting the door at his face, leaving him behind - crushed, pathetic, pained - forever and ever.

“My Lord, my greatest friend, my only friend...” Amidst his scrambling thoughts, he can feel their hands gently cupping, brushing the sides of his cheeks with the same calming movements, a light smile beamed from their lips as their hazy, hollow eyes stare into his shivering pupils. “Why in this dreadful world would I ever be afraid of my one and only companion?”

They are not scared. They don’t have to feel scared.

They had died once. They had escaped the Grim Reaper’s grasp once. It won’t happen again. There will be no one to bring them back from the deepest depths of Hell if he were just to apply a bit more strength into his deadly grip.

But one that has experienced the painful welcome of death is to be a hardened soul.

Do you know that humans float on the Death Sea?

“Why would I be scared when you’re not scaring me?”

Because he’s—

“No, My Lord,” they know him so well. “you are not.”

His claws and tail have not even bulge an inch away from their body. But they don’t care.

Sometimes, they’re willing to be in the rough embrace of the deep sea.

And be the vessel to bear its salty tears.


	6. “Why did you care for me?”

It’s nothing out of the ordinary anymore to him.

Constant insults from his brothers, being treated like an outsider, ignored, thrown around here and there by the witches he’s so scared of, that’s his life and before long, he has already learned to kiss that shit and dress it up, live with it. 

He’d never show how conscious he is about how scummy he has always been, he’s fine, he’s fine with being the black sheep in the family if it means everyone else gets along.

Like how it is with lies. Feed someone too many lies and eventually they’ll believe those are all truths. He’s been assigned the title of a fool and a scumbag for too long, that he just accepted the words as his entire being and had, rarely - if almost never, questioned the accuracy of the insults thrown at him. He’ll just have to stand up on his own, shouldering the weight of being a trash can to everyone’s anger.

That is until his human appeared.

For the first time in millennia, a singularity, a mere human, _someone_ , shows him sympathy and protection from harsh words. Someone who doesn’t call him a filthy, trashy and despicable money-grubbing scum like how everyone would talk about him. The first time they ever raised their voice to shut the others up when he was about to break - the tears still managed to creep out the corner of his eyes - but it’s out of something he couldn’t recognize. Perhaps surprise, perhaps a foreign safety of being protected by someone, a strange relaxation to be able to let go of his damaged, fragile shell.

He’s secretly grateful, and he feels like he owns them so much - he’d never admit it out loud, he claimed to be fine, but he also thinks that he’s been more senile, more easily broken, a lot mentally weaker than how he used to be. Has he been too dependent on them? Is he bothering them? If he isn’t strong, who is he to be able to protect and be there for his human when they suffer from any kind of pain?

Shutting in the vast darkness and a horrible mess of his room, he shudders. His power suddenly disappeared, and he just wants to vent all out, somehow, something, somewhere,

**_someone._ **

Please help.

_Please..._

Where are they?

Where is _his human_?

A gentle pair of arms surrounded his slumping figure, pulling him into a tight hug.

_“Why did you care for me?”_

Why, he cursed himself, did he even doubt them for caring? Is there some parts of him that can’t just believe in their genuine words of comfort, thinking that they actually want to use him like those wretched, nasty witches?

“Because you deserve to be cared for.”

Ah, how long has it been since he last heard such words?

Yes, he deserves it. He deserves to have all of it. He was supposed to be greedy, hunger for love, for attention, like a real Avatar of Greed should be.

If he thinks he doesn’t, they will be there to make him believe he does.


	7. “When we all fall asleep, where do we go?”

Have you ever wondered what would happen after you die?

It’s a bad question to ask. It’s a bad thing to think about. It’s something people are scared to mention.

However, it’s more like a gossip topic to demons, since they’re - not entirely - immortal (save for the case if they actually get killed, but at least they’re not to die because of old age like humans). It’s fun to try imagining like a kid dreaming about being an adult. It’s hypothetical and it invokes their brains to work. It’s not bad to actually think so once in a while.

But standing in front of his human, he found the question too heavy on the tip of his tongue. Human’s life is short, numbered, limited, every second counts and death is never welcoming. He repeats that single question many times in his mind, sometimes when he’s alone, sometimes when he’s with them, working on their separate tasks across his room - which they share once in a while. He wonders where their soul would wander when it left their dysfunctional body - aging has already taken everything useful from it. Would they go to heaven? They are the purest soul he had ever met since he fell from grace - their presence alone blesses him with celestial light that sparks with a fuzzy warmth, like how happy days would feel like when he was still an angel. Or would they be sent back to Devildom, to linger in this House of Lamentation - although his brothers wouldn’t see them, but they would feel a gentle hand over their worrying mind that voids emptiness from their human’s lost. They won’t turn into a demon - too pure for such a painful and horrid transformation. He would even stand against Diavolo - like how he stood, completely unfazed against his Father - if there’s no other choice in how their fate would turn out. He isn’t afraid, not when he’s even more afraid of letting his human go.

But now, among the chaos his brothers’ indign sleeping habits had created, the human cuddles in his chest, their rhythmic breaths and heartbeats drumming lightly against his own peacefully, calmly. Their hands draped over his slenderly built body, exhausted from overworking day and night - in fact tonight’s sleepover party, something they have been eager to plan and host with the brothers, was completely their idea of making him relax. But he finds himself wide awake, unable to rest while his brothers snore ever so loudly. It’s not their fault, it’s his. With how vulnerable his human seems while they’re asleep, he can’t help but want to hug them so tight, to never let go. He looks at them like he’s seeing their dead body, albeit more normal looking - not that bloody, distorted mess of a corpse Belphegor once created, his ego screams nonchalantly, and yet his mind bickers. Pride can prevent someone from falling out of their image, but it can’t shield them from pain, crippling depression and stress building up over time. He showed them he didn’t care much outside the sole reason that they are Diavolo’s guest of honor, but his actions shouted loudly how protective he is towards that mere human - something akin to protecting a family member. So really, he couldn’t even imagine how it would be if they were to die, something that would eventually happen.

_When we all fall asleep, where do we go?_

The land of slumber. Perhaps laced with distress, regrets, pure malice under every step.

A feast on heaven. Ambrosia, nectar, honey-like wine, endless amount of food lining the table.

A rose garden in full bloom. Eternally twinkling in glamorous beauty and bewitching scent.

The library. Smells of old, fading pages and sounds of brushing papers filling calmly in the chaos of one’s mind.

The endlessly deep sea. Darkness, solace and small fragments of comfort wrapping every inch in its vast body.

The casino. Booming with chatter and laughs, the sound of coins rattling and crinkling on hard surfaces, against each other.

**_Home._ **

Everywhere.

Anywhere.

Wherever his brothers are, that is home to him.

Wherever his human is, that is home to all of them.

Do they feel the same as he shifts quietly to pull them closer, keeping them safe and sound and warm in the middle of a cold Devildom winter night?

Tonight, Lucifer can sleep. 

Not a deep sleep, but peaceful enough to make up for all his sleepless nights.


End file.
